Well Met
by redcandle
Summary: Sansa encounters an old acquaintance after she's forced to flee the Vale with Littlefinger. Sansa/Sandor.


Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and elements from A Song of Ice and Fire belong to George R.R. Martin. No copyright infringement is intended.

_He said I was going to marry Harry the Heir and see Winterfell again_, Sansa thought bitterly. She should have remembered that Petyr Baelish was a liar. Instead of a direwolf maiden's cloak, she'd gotten a hasty trip out of the Vale.

There were only three of them; herself, Petyr, and Lothor Brune. They'd taken the best horses from Nestor Royce's stables, but the roads were covered with heavy snowfall so their pace was slow. Sansa kept glancing behind her as she rode; afraid Bronze Yohn's men would catch up to them. _I'll tell him who I really am and beg for his protection. I had no part in what Littlefinger did._

She still didn't know exactly what had happened. She'd been happy as Alayne Stone at the Gates of the Moon. The castle was lively and full of people, with dancing and singing nearly every night, and everyone liked Alayne even though she was a bastard. Little Robert Arryn was sick with a chill and asleep most of the time, so she was free to sew and gossip with Randa all day. Everything should have been perfect when Harry arrived; she should have made him fall in love with her and wed her and win Winterfell back for her when he became Lord of the Eyrie. But she hadn't gotten the chance. Harry had arrived already wed to one of Bronze Yohn's daughters and then Robert had died in his sleep.

Petyr had awoken her in the middle of the night and told her to get dressed and pack a few of her things. They'd been on the move since then and Sansa had lost track of how many days had passed. She was tired and frightened. It should have been a relief to finally reach Gulltown, but they boarded a ship within an hour and afterward Sansa could only think of her upset tummy.

"Everything will be alright, sweetling," Petyr said, holding her against him. "We've still got Harrenhal."

Sansa pulled away from him and scrambled across the tiny cabin to the chamber pot. She lost the little bit of bread and cheese she'd eaten and then she sat huddled there miserably.

"Come sleep, Alayne. We'll be in Maidenpool before you know it. I own a brothel there where we can rest for a while."

There was nothing left in her tummy, but Sansa was sick again anyway.

They arrived at Maidenpool to find the town under the control of ragged men and women professing allegiance to the High Septon. The brothel Petyr owned had been burned along with other establishments of ill-repute, and the women who worked in it had been driven away or hanged. _There is no safety anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms_, Sansa thought.

They did not linger in the town. Petyr's authority as Lord Paramount of the riverlands meant nothing to the Faith and he might be in danger if they knew who he was. Ser Lothor found horses for them to purchase, though there were only two and both animals looked starved. Sansa hoped the poor creatures didn't die before they reached Harrenhal.

She and Petyr rode together, and while she was glad for the warmth, she wished he would cease talking. He was planning to make himself Hand of the King and, of course, he would make her Lady of Winterfell one day. It reminded Sansa of herself spinning tales for her cousin Robert. She was nearly a woman grown and she didn't need comforting lies anymore.

There was strength in numbers and strength was needed in these times so they fell in beside a merchant's caravan on the road. Outlaws had returned to the area since Lord Tarly had left for King's Landing, and people were being robbed and raped and murdered nearly as often as during the war. One of the sellswords working for the merchant told them the worst outlaw was the Hound, who had killed everyone in the town of Saltpans. She dreamt of the Hound that night and in her dream he took more than a kiss.

Sansa's mood soured shortly after she awoke the following day. She'd walked a short distance away from the camp to relieve herself, only to be followed by one of the sellswords. She was sure he would have attacked her if Ser Lothor hadn't appeared. She got no peace during the day's ride either. The merchant rode beside them and talked with Petyr, trying to arrange a match between her and his son. _A prosperous merchant's son would not be a bad match for a lord's natural daughter_, she reminded herself, and Alayne smiled at him.

It was nearly time to stop for the evening when they were accosted by an armed group of hooded men. "Outlaws," someone hissed, and Ser Lothor and the sellswords drew their swords. The merchant began to pray. Sansa would have prayed too, but she was frozen with fear. The merchant's prayer alone was good enough for the gods though; the men were followers of the Faith, not outlaws.

"Have you paid your tithe, good man?" asked one of the holy warriors.

"I have, ser," the merchant replied. "I paid taxes in Maidenpool and m'lord will tax me again when I get home."

Sansa lost interest in their exchange when another hooded man urged his mount close to her and Petyr. Though she couldn't see his face, she could feel him looking at her. He patted his big black stallion to calm it when the animal snapped at their poor nag, but he didn't move away. Sansa kept her eyes lowered, her heart pounding. _There is nothing to be afraid of. He is a holy knight, sworn to celibacy._ That might have reassured her once, but Sansa had learned how little vows meant to most men.

"Why don't you shelter with us for the night while we sort this out," said the knight who'd been talking to the merchant. It was not a suggestion; not with Sansa's group surrounded.

The shelter turned out to be a towerhouse whose lord or knight was long gone. The fields around it had been burned and the tower itself had seen better days. Sansa wondered if its master had died fighting for her brother Robb. While the merchant unhappily sorted through his goods, deciding what to give up as tribute to the gods, the others were given a meal of broth and bread, though they had to wait before they ate for one of the knights to say a long prayer.

It was a solemn meal. The sellswords didn't tell ribald stories and Petyr didn't make cruelly amusing quips. Sansa did not have to be told that they faced danger, that the holy men might turn on them if they were deemed unrepentant sinners.

"My daughter was raised in a motherhouse," Petyr said after they'd finished eating. "Alayne, perhaps you would sing a hymn for the brothers?"

Sansa didn't feel like singing, but there was no graceful way to refuse. She sang the Mother's hymn, hoping they wouldn't ask her to sing more. The big knight who'd stared at her earlier moved nearer as she sang. He was looming over her by the time the last note trailed off.

"Your daughter sings well, my lord," one of the holy brothers told Petyr. "She should return to the motherhouse and become a septa."

Sansa was trying to think of a way to tell them she didn't want to be a septa without angering them when the big one grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. She had no choice but to go with him. She could hear Petyr protesting and Ser Lothor looked like to come after her, but the other holy men blocked his way.

The wind was bitterly cold outside, but that was not why Sansa shivered. The man pushed her against the wall and leaned so close that she couldn't feel the chill anymore. "What would you have of me, ser?" she asked.

He brushed a tendril of dark hair away from her face. "Don't call me ser, little bird."

She should not be shocked at how inaccurate the news had been; not when people said Sansa Stark had killed King Joffrey and escaped by turning into a wolf. But this was the last fate she'd ever envisioned for the Hound. "I'd heard you'd become an outlaw."

"Are you disappointed? I assure you, I wouldn't be like the outlaws in the songs." He drew back his hood, allowing her to see his grin - and the hideous burn scars that covered one side of his face.

Sansa wanted to look away, but she knew that would anger him. She held his gaze as she touched the cheek covered with stubble rather than scars. "I am pleased you're well."

He seized her wrist and led her to the barn. There was an empty stall with clean-looking hay. He tossed his cloak over the hay and then he pulled her down beside him. There was a strange feeling in her tummy, fear and something else.

"Pretty little bird." He stroked her hair. "I shouldn't have left you in King's Landing. When I heard they'd given you to the Imp..."

He'd been so drunk and angry when he'd come to her the night of the battle that Sansa had been too afraid to go with him. Instead she'd placed her trust in the drunken fool Ser Dontos. _And that path led me here, to him again._

When he kissed her, it wasn't at all like the rough, possessive kiss she remembered. This kiss was tentative, gentle. Sansa kissed him harder. She laid back on the straw and pulled him down atop her. It was a good feeling, having his strong body between her and the world.

She opened her legs when he pulled up her skirts, and when his fingers fumbled between her legs, she guided him to the spot she'd discovered lying in bed at night thinking about the Knight of Flowers and about him. She had always thought of him as the Hound, but it didn't seem appropriate now. They were quite familiar enough to use each other's given name. "Sandor," she said.

He abandoned her breasts to kiss her soundly on the mouth again. Sansa meant to ask him to be gentle, but he was inside her before she had the chance to speak. She cried out.

"Fuck," he swore. "You should have told me you were a maiden."

"I was going to tell you," she said, annoyed that he seemed angry at her.

_"When?"_

_How can he be unkind to me at a time like this?_ Sansa felt like crying.

"I don't mean to hurt you, girl…I'm sorry."

He was apologizing for the pain he was causing between her legs, not for hurting her feelings. Sansa closed her eyes. She felt Sandor still and kiss her forehead.

"Sansa." His breath was hot in her ear. "I am no true knight. I don't know what to do with a proper little lady like you."

Sansa put her arms around him. He kissed her forehead again and resumed moving between her legs. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but he might not like to hear that so she said nothing.

Sandor kept kissing her, her hair and neck and face, while they cleaned up and fixed their clothes. He looked happy too. Sansa thought it meant he loved her even if he didn't say he did. The thought made her happy. She leaned into his embrace and rested her head against his chest.

"You won't leave me ever again, will you?"

"I'm your dog to command for as long as you want me."

"I want to go home, to Winterfell." It didn't matter who called themselves king or lord, the castle Sansa had been born and raised in still stood and that was where she wanted to be. No one else was there, but Sandor would be with her and that was enough.

"Aye. I'll get what we need." He kissed her forehead again, and then he asked, "Do you want me to kill Littlefinger?"

Sansa thought about it, surprised by her response, and gave Sandor her truthful answer. Then she waited with his warhorse Stranger while he went to fetch their things so they could go home.

~break~

"Is aught amiss, brother?" asked Ser Roland when Sandor entered the towerhouse.

"No, brother," he answered. "I heard the maiden's confession and absolved her sins." His mouth twitched as he struggled not to laugh. They had watched him drag Sansa away and not a man among them had had any thought but that he was taking her to rape her. However they were all willing to pretend otherwise and that suited Sandor at the moment.

He felt Littlefinger's stare and realized he'd forgotten to raise his hood to cover his burnt face. Sansa had said Littlefinger had been kind to her, but Sandor had his doubts about that and even a dog knew it was better to kill a predator today than to drive him away and leave him to attack again tomorrow. The other men had recognized him too.

"Alayne has decided to become a septa after all," he said, "And I've decided to escort her and her father to a motherhouse not far from here."

"That is very kind of you," Littlefinger said. "But surely your brothers need your sword."

"The gods have commanded me to keep you safe, my lord," Sandor said piously. "The roads are crawling with outlaws and the gods do not want such a promising maiden defiled before she takes holy vows." It was horseshit and they all knew it, but the knights were too afraid of having their own piety questioned to challenge him and the others were just plain afraid.

"Where is the girl?" Lothor Brune asked.

"In the barn, of course, _ser_. It's not proper for a woman to sleep beneath the same roof as so many men."

"Surely it is not improper for a father to keep his daughter company," Littlefinger said with one of his annoying little smiles.

"I suppose not." Sandor scooped up the packs that belonged to Petyr Baelish and his "daughter." He gave Brune a hard look. If the man stayed behind, he could keep his life. If he insisted on playing the part of Littlefinger's hero, he would die.

Lothor Brune had been a sellsword before he was a knight and gallantry did not weigh him down. He turned away from Baelish and began speaking to the fat old merchant.

"I will stand vigil and pray for you tonight," Sandor told Littlefinger for the benefit of his holy brothers.

"You're laying it on a bit too thick, Clegane," Littlefinger said when they were outside. "The art of a good charade is subtlety."

"Well, what's it going to be, Baelish?"

"Cersei is too emotional to pardon your crimes and reward you if you take Sansa to her. You _did_ desert her precious Joffrey, after all. However I can get you a pardon for your crimes and give you a place in my service. In time, you will have lands and a title."

Sandor laughed. "You're losing your touch. You're supposed to bribe me with something tempting."

"I will make you Sansa's sworn shield. If you have not upset her too much, I may even be able to convince her to bed you."

"How would you do that?"

"She will see the value in spreading her legs for you once I explain things to her."

Sandor clamped his hand over the smaller man's mouth so he could not scream and disturb Sansa. Then he broke his neck. He searched the body for valuables, and then he dumped it in an old chicken coop where it would not be found for a while.

"You were gone an awfully long time," Sansa commented when he joined her in the barn. "Was it terribly difficult to convince Petyr I'd rather go with you?"

Sandor gave her a hard look. She had to know he could not let Littlefinger live. But if she wanted to deceive herself to keep her hands clean, he would let her. It was the least he could do to make up for all she'd suffered after he'd cowardly abandoned her in King's Landing.

When he didn't answer her, Sansa came over and wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her face against his chest. "I'm very glad I met you."

He wondered how true that was or whether she'd learned on her own the _value_ of spreading her legs for him. He could only stroke her hair and hope even if wasn't true now, it would be.

"Did you like Winterfell?" she asked. "We'll be happy there."

The horse Baelish had ridden was a pitifully weak old thing, so Sandor stole the merchant's palfrey without any hesitation and lifted Sansa up onto its back before mounting Stranger. Tonight's snow would cover their tracks and by morning, it would not be possible to pursue them. They'd expect him to head to Maidenpool or King's Landing, so Sandor would go to Saltpans instead. They could catch a ship to White Harbor there and maybe they might actually make it to Sansa's Winterfell.


End file.
